


Shining Just the Way I Like

by doctorbuffypotterlock79



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race (US) RPF
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Lesbian AU, i saw Denali's diner runway and my hand slipped, small cameos from various queens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:49:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29889654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorbuffypotterlock79/pseuds/doctorbuffypotterlock79
Summary: Denali works as a roller-skating waitress, and Rosé catches her eye
Relationships: Denali Foxx/Rosé
Comments: 20
Kudos: 99





	Shining Just the Way I Like

**Author's Note:**

  * For [forever_home](https://archiveofourown.org/users/forever_home/gifts).



> So I saw Denali's runway, and then @forever_home posted about a fic based on it, and somehow the inspiration hit me and this happened today. It's very fluffy and I really hope you like it!! A million thank you's to Writ for beta-ing and FaceTiming me to scream with their full reaction. 
> 
> Title from Levitating by Dua Lipa.

The West-Burner Best Burger diner has a sprawling parking lot big enough for dinosaurs to roam, and each of the carhop spots is full, beat-up cars and fancy show-off ones alike all waiting for the golden fries and juicy burgers and thick milkshakes made by the cooking staff inside the brilliant red—well, Denali just has to trust Kahmora that it’s red, due to her slight color-blindness—and white diner. Denali readjusts the red plastic tray, checks for any maniac drivers, and pushes off across the lot, her skates gliding. 

The owners, Nina and Tina, are sisters who love a good vintage vibe, and it’s why Denali is roller-skating across the blacktop, her red-and-white striped dress fluttering around her. Being a waitress—let alone one on skates—isn’t always ideal, with the customers who complain that what they ordered is somehow not what they want, or take the dress as an excuse to hit on her, but it pays more than typical waitressing jobs because of the skating factor. Not to mention most customers give her good tips—usually out of pity for the goosebumps on her arms on cold days, or awe over her getting the food there smoothly—and it’s extra skating practice before she can hit the ice for her _real_ skating practice. Not ideal, but not horrible either, and as the sun warms her skin and she skates away from a minivan full of screaming kids with a five-dollar bill tucked in her apron, today feels like a good day. 

She rolls inside the back door, nodding a thanks at Symone for holding it open. The inside of the diner is full with the lunch rush, the mix of indoor seating and carhop spots--the only ones around since that Sonic closed--meaning that Nina and Tina have one of the most successful restaurants in the state, with the polished plaque of excellence by the door to prove it. 

“Hey, Denali!” Kahmora waves from the kitchen door, quickly catching herself before the water in her hand spills. She’s part of the inside wait staff; Denali’s attempt to teach her skating had only resulted in both of them going down in a mess of skates and scrapes, Nina pouncing on them with her first aid kit. 

“Hi, Kahmora.”

“There are so many good-looking people in here today!” she says, cheerfully walking over to Denali. 

“Besides me!” Symone calls from the door. 

Kahmora rolls her eyes. “Anyway, I’ve flirted with two different tables so far. I’ll be getting that coin today.”

“And maybe a phone number,” Denali says. 

“God, I hope.” Kahmora grins and crosses her fingers, and then she’s off, turning to a table with her wide smile shining. 

Denali grins. Kahmora is excellent at charming customers, and it works to her advantage as she rakes in the tips. Denali doesn’t have much chance to do that part at the carhops. She just brings people their food and waits for them to give the tray back; there’s no twirling her hair around while she waits for them to order, no drawing hearts on the napkins. It’s straightforward, and it leaves room in her brain to run through her skating routine. 

Nina hands her another tray, and Denali glides outside. The feel of roller-skates over blacktop is nowhere as smooth as sharp ice skates over fresh ice, and the loud chatting in cars she passes is a far cry from the quiet ice rink, but Denali can’t resist a little twirl here and there like she’s on the ice, relishing in their perfection even if she doesn’t have to be perfect out here. 

She pulls to a stop by a black car, Lady Gaga trickling softly through the open window. There’s a woman in the passenger seat and one in the back, but Denali can’t look away from the beautiful driver. She has soft pink hair and bright eyes that look green one second and hazel the next. She smiles, and Denali almost drops the tray. 

“Wh—what can I get you?” Denali asks, because that’s the first thing that pops into her brain. 

“Um … I think we already ordered?” The pink-haired woman says, and Denali remembers that she’s quite literally holding a tray with their order on it. 

“Right. My bad.” Denali stammers as she slips the tray through the window, cheeks as pink as the woman’s hair. 

“No worries.” There’s that smile again, and Denali’s knees wobble like they’ve forgotten the steadiness years of skating gave them. “I get flustered around pretty girls too.” 

“No kidding,” mutters the brunette in the backseat, reaching for her food. 

“Eat your chicken tenders, Jan,” the pink-haired woman snaps. 

“Well, if Lagoona didn’t steal my honey mustard like she stole my shirt last week—“

Denali holds in a laugh as a packet of sauce is launched into the backseat, with a snarled promise that the brunette will get her damn shirt back. 

“Don’t mind them,” the driver says, a warm pink clinging to her cheeks too. 

“Of course.” Denali pauses as her heart skips a beat, grasping on to any bit of courage she has. “What was that you were saying about me being pretty?” 

“Actually, I was saying that _I’m_ pretty and I don’t blame you for being flustered.” The woman in the passenger seat makes a gagging noise, and the driver elbows her before giving another smile, glint in her eyes making Denali flash her dimples. “But you’re pretty too.” 

“I know.” Denali grins as she twirls brown hair around her finger, because why not? Those hazel-green eyes are locked on her, the driver leaning forward so far she’s almost out the window, hanging on every word Denali says. 

She laughs, and Denali would do anything to hear it again. 

“I’m Rosé.” 

“Denali.” 

“Denali,” she repeats softly, and it sounds nicer on her lips than on Denali’s own, like Rosé is treasuring getting to say it. “So, you—you really skate and stuff?” 

“Yep.” Denali flexes her ankle, modeling her skates like she’s on the ice, even if Rosé can’t see. “I’m an ice skater, actually.” 

“Wow.” 

Denali snorts. “Yeah.” 

“Are you—“

“Do you work here? I need more ketchup, and don’t think I won’t call a manager.” Denali spins around to find the source of the noise: an angry woman stalking over to Denali like a lion cornering its prey, her minivan door still open. 

Denali winces, and Rosé’s face softens in sympathy. “I better let you go,” she says sadly, passing over the tray. “Good luck with her.” 

“Thanks.” Denali sighs. 

“Oh, and this is for you.” She hands Denali some folded bills with one last smile. “I’ll see you, okay?” 

“See you.” The woman’s lion jaws are about to snap around Denali, and she quickly leaves the car and intercepts her. She doesn’t even look at the tip Rosé gave her until she’s on break, and is shocked to find fifteen dollars. A fifteen dollar tip on a twenty-five dollar order is--well, Denali can’t do math but she knows it’s a lot; it’s more than she’d get from four cars put together. Not to mention the brilliant smiles Rosé kept giving her, worthy of being a tip themselves. It’s definitely a good day, one clouded over with cotton candy pink hair. 

—-

Days go by, and Denali is so busy scanning the parking lot for any hint of pink hair that she actually trips on a rock and falls one day. Luckily there’s no food in her hands, and she brushes off everyone’s concerns, commanding her brain to focus on work instead of women with pink hair. 

Maybe Rosé thought about it and decided she doesn’t like Denali after all, will do anything she can to avoid the diner. Maybe it was all just a joke from the start. But Denali doesn’t think so. Rosé’s eyes never left her, even with the chaos in her car, like she didn’t want to miss a moment of Denali. So when is she coming back? When will Denali see that smile again?

It’s been a week, and Denali’s about to skate into the breakroom when Nina corners her, a strawberry milkshake in one hand and a chocolate in the other. “Denali, can you bring these out to number two quick?”

She doesn’t want to turn down Nina, so she just nods. Number two is the only carhop spot filled, so there’s no chance of other customers chasing her down. It’s 3:00, that calm period in between the lunch rush and dinner rush, with just stragglers now and then stopping for a snack or shake. The car’s window rolls down to reveal the pink hair that hasn’t left Denali’s mind in a week.

“You’re back!”

“I’m back.” Rosé’s smile outshines the sun, and Denali grins too. 

Her warm palms might melt the milkshakes, and she hands them to Rosé. Denali notices finally that the car is empty, and confusion sparks in her. Why did Rosé order two milkshakes for herself, and why is she sitting there holding them both, opening and closing her mouth like she wants to say something?

“Two milkshakes for you?” Denali asks. “I’m not judging, just--”

Rosé bites her lip. “Actually, one is for you.”

Denali’s mouth hangs open, and as much as she wants to fly to the passenger side of the car, her legs are a bit too jelly-like to support her.

Rosé’s eyes widen with worry. “Shit, you like chocolate, right? I just guessed. I mean, who doesn’t like chocolate--”

“I love chocolate,” Denali says, heart melting at Rosé’s sigh of relief. She rolls to the passenger door and slips onto the seat, and she’s so _close_ to Rosé. There’s no car door in between them anymore. Instead, they’re both in this car together, and Rosé smells like vanilla and her eyes are even brighter than Denali thought, and she never wants to leave this car. 

They clink their plastic cups and sip their drinks, and Denali spends each second of her break taking in all she can of Rosé, from how she loves to sing and was born in Scotland, all the way to how she slurps up every last drop of her milkshake and always keeps her hand close to Denali’s. 

When Denali’s alarm goes off, telling her to get back to work, she chugs the last of her shake and sighs. “This was really nice,” she says. 

“Yeah,” Rosé agress. She raises an eyebrow. “I think it needed to be longer, don’t you?”

Denali’s heart flutters. “A _lot_ longer.”

“Does this Saturday at seven work? It can be as long as we want.”

Denali doesn’t even hesitate. “It’s a date.”


End file.
